THE  LIBRARY 
OF  THE 

U*IV”SSTY  OF  ILLINOIS 


TUTTLE 


STACKS 


BROWN  UNIVERSITY. 

CLASS  OF  ’66. 


ORATION 

DELIVERED  IN 

MANNING  HALL, 


CLASS  BAY,  JUNE  14th,  1S66. 


PRINTED  BY  REQUEST  OF  THE  CLASS. 


PROVIDENCE  : 

KNOWLES,  ANTHONY  & CO.,  PRINTERS. 

1 8 6 6. 


• . > 


bio  .1 
m’oA  & 


AT  a meeting  of  the  Senior  Class  of  Brown  University,  June  18th, 
1866,  it  was  unanimously 

Resolved , That  a vote  of  thanks  be  tendered  to  William  H.  Spencer, 
the  Orator,  and  to  Preston  Gurney,  the  Poet,  for  the  acceptable  manner 
in  which  they  performed  their  duties  on  Class  Day. 

Resolved,  That  Edward  K.  Glezen,  Samuel  H.  Albro  and  Herbert 
C.  Bullard  constitute  a Committee  to  solicit  of  the  Orator  and  the  Poet 
their  productions,  for  publication. 


THE  POWER  OP  SUGGESTION. 

ORATION 

BY  WILLIAM  H.  SPENCER, 

% 


BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


THE  POWER  OP  SUGGESTION. 


THERE  is  a certain  readiness  of  perception,  commonly 
described  as  knowing  how  to  take  a hint, — an  inge- 
nuity' in  detecting  relations  between  things  remotely  con- 
nected. It  guesses  effects  while  as  yet  they  lie  wrapped  up 
in  their  cause,  and  is  constantly  finding,  in  material  objects 
and  physical  exercise,  symbols  of  ideas  and  mental  acts. 
Practical  common  sense  knows  no  deeper  cunning  than  this. 
Perhaps  it  will  be  found  that  sagest  wisdom  has  no  surer 
way  of  reaching  its  conclusions ; that  the  whole  course  of 
training  that  constitutes  education,  in  the  most  general  sense, 
is  but  a series  of  attempts  to  acquire  truth  by  means  of 
hints.  For  it  is  certain  that  however  much  may  be  ex- 
pressed, in  what  is  said  or  written  or  done,  there  is  always 
much  more  that  remains  to  ’be  guessed  at.  Without  much 
shrewd  guess-work  and  taking  of  hints,  our  numerous  teach- 
ers,— natural,  human  and  divine,— would  labor  to  little  pur- 
pose in  our  education.  If  the  ultimate  aim  of  education  be 
to  interpret  the  various  objects  of  sense,  to  hear  the  deep 
undertones  of  life,  to  feel  the  sweet  thrill  of  relation  that 
unites  us  with  the  Infinite,  then  substance,  fact,  sound — all 
show  and  noise — are  not  the  proper  subjects  of  teaching  or 
learning,  however  indispensable  they  may  be  as  the  means 


8 


ORA  TION. 


of  knowledge.  They  are  the  windows,  more  or  less  defec- 
tive and  stained,  through  which  the  pure  thought  glimmers. 

For  life,  in  its  subtler  spiritualisms,  the  true  complexion 
of  thought,  is  revealed  only  in  hints,  and  can,  in  no  way, 
be  fully  expressed.  Even  in  ordinary  speech,  how  does  the 
poverty  of  language  stand  confessed ! How  much  we  de- 
pend upon  tones  in  detecting  the  delicate  shades  of  thought 
and  feeling!  There  is  far  less  in  words  and  phrases  than 
in  the  tone  that  wings  them.*  The  greeting  of  a friend  is 
conveyed  in  his  hearty  tone,  in  his  eye,  rather  than  in  the 
commonplace  phrase  that  he  utters.  There  is  a whine  in 
the  petition  of  a professional  beggar  that  proclaims  his  call- 
ing. There  is  often  a thickness  of  utterance  in  the  voices 
of  brave  men  in  battle,  betraying  the  natural  dread  that  the 
presence  of  peril  inspires. 

A glance  at  some  of  the  different  sources  of  our  infor- 
mation may  serve  to  illustrate  the  significance  of  hints  in 
teaching,  and  may  lead  to  some  notion  of  their  real  value. 

Nature  stands  before  us,  full  of  meanings  and  purposes  at 
which  she  only  hints.  Her  looks  and  tones  are  all  pro- 
phetic. Never  satisfied  with  exhibitions  of  what  is  now  doing 
in  her  realm,  she  always  scatters  before  her  the  hints  of 
coming  events.  The  present  is  but  a promise  of  the  future. 
Just  as,  when  a man  is  about  to  say  a good  thing,  you 
can  see  his  eye  twinkle,  and  his  face  begin  to  shine  with 
the  thought,  before  he  utters  a word,  so,  when  nature  con- 
ceives the  thought  of  Summer  in  her  heart,  you  can  read 
it  in  the  color  that  mantles  the  hills,  of  late  so  pale,  in  the 
twinkle  of  wild  flowers  and  the  chuckle  of  meadow-brooks. 
T,here  is  a bustle  of  preparation  in  the  sky  that  tells  you 
of  the  coming  rain.  Boys  can  take  the  hint  conveyed  in  a 
young  orchard,  or  a melon-patch,  long  enough  before  nature 

% 


ORA  T10N. 


9 


spells  out  the  magic  word  — fruit!  You  have  abundance 
of  time  to  guess  what  nature  is  about  when  she  undertakes 
the  full  expression  of  the  meaning  of  an  acorn. 

Again,  it  is  from  hints,  thrown  out  by  nature  in  her 
careless  way,  that  the  man  of  science  discovers  her  latent 
forces  and  turns  them  into  directions  of  utility.  She  did 
not  provide  men  with  a steam-engine,  all  polished  and  com- 
plete. She  only  kept  blowing  off  the  covers  of  pots  and 
kettles,  wherever  steam  was  confined,  and  left  it  to  the  wits 
of  the  curious  and  thoughtful  to  take  the  hint,  and  find 
out  what  could  be  done  with  this  restive  spirit.  We  boast 
of  wresting  from  nature  the  stores  of  energy  and  the  rich 
treasures  she  has  kept  so  long  concealed ; but  when  has 
nature  ever  hid  her  face  or  closed  her  hand  to  earnest 
seekers  ? There  are  wonderful  inventions,  shrewd  discoveries 
in  physical  science,  that  were  begging  for  recognition  and 
employment  during  ages  of  stupidity  and  superstition. 
How  many  apples  dropped  upon  unsuspicious  pates  before 
a man  was  found  who  could  give  the.  act  its  name  ? How 
many  centuries  did  pendulums  of  all  sorts  swing  before 
the  eyes  of  men,  before  any  one  took  the  hint  of  a clock? 
Is  there  anything  which  the  conceit  of  men  has  ascribed 
to  the  acuteness  of  their  observation,  that  was  not  hinted 
broadly  enough  long  before  it  was  perceived  ? 

But  there  are  subtler  meanings  in  nature,  which  are  no 
less  real  than  steam-engines  and  clocks.  Matter  everywhere 
throbs  with  a force  that  is  not  material,  — something  which 
eludes  the  most  subtile  chemical  analysis.  When  we  have 
traced  physical  phenomena  to  their  vital  source,  and  can  go  no 
further,  we  stop,  baffled,  and  give  to  the  fact  that  eludes 
us  some  hard  name  — attraction,  repulsion,  chemical  affinity 

— terms  which  are  nothing  but’  meaningless  labels,  attached 
2 


10 


ORATION. 


for  the  sake  of  convenience  to  something  that  defies  analy- 
sis, — a mysterious  energy,  which  has  given  a few  signs 
of  its  presence. 

Beauty  is  something  that  is  felt,  not  seen.  There  is 
shapeliness  in  form,  harmony  in  sound,  because  an  idea 
lives  in  the  figure  and  breathes  in  the  tones.  Whatever 
truth  there  is  in  relation,  in  the  fitness  of  things,  it  is 
something  that  we  can  .only  feel.  He  who  hears  only 
noise  and  sees  only  sights  in  nature,  is  like  one  who  dozes 
over  a book,  and  reads  the  same  page  again  and  again, 
without  any  perception  of  its  sense.  There  is  something 
in  the  plash  of  fountains  and  cascades,  in  the  rustling  of 
leaves  when  airy  fingers  sweep  over  them,  in  the  sounds 
which  fill  the  air  of  a Summer  night,  that  the  ear  does 
not  hear.  There  is  an  undertone  of  gladness,  or,  it  may 
be,  a hint  of  sadness,  which  you  can  only  feel,  without 
knowing  why  it  is,  that  these  simple  sounds  should  be  sad 
or  glad.  There  is  more  than  mere  color  and  perfume  in 
flowers.  A tree  has  a distinctive  character  of  its  own, 
visible  in  its  shape,  as  the  human  soul  4n  the  countenance. 
One  who  is  in  sympathy  with  nature  feels  a spirit  of 
action  in  the  hills,  and  in  the  lowlands  a spirit  of  repose. 
To  such  an  one,  all  physical  phenomena  are  full  of  ideas, 
seeking  to  subordinate  all  coarse,  material  uses  to  the  higher 
and  purer  cravings  of  spiritual  instincts.  To  the  musical 
soul  of  Hadyn,  the  course  of  the  seasons  suggested  an 
oratorio.  So  to  every  one  who  will  but  take  the  key-note 
of  nature,  the  infinite  jargon  of  sounds  in  all  her  busy  life 
shall  glide  into  an  anthem,  befitting  the  organ  and  the  Di- 
vine Performer.  Unite  all  the  sounds  of  Summer  to  the 
minor  strains  that  sob  in  the  air  of  October  days,  add  the 
shrill  piping  of  November'  gales,  and  the  hoarse  fury  of 


ORA  TION . 


11 


Winter  storms,  and  then  let  the  fullness  of  tone  die  away, 
and  break  out  again  more  softly  in  the  songs  of  birds  and 
the  dancing  'of  streams.  These  are  but  the  separate  parts 
of  the  yearly  anthem.  It  is  the  universal  u Hymn  of 
Praise.” 

Thus,  in  many  ways,  nature  teaches  those  who  will 
learn,  hinting,  in  looks  and  tones  more  than  in  her  thousand 
voices,  the  mysteries  that  yearn  for  full  expression. 

But  what  nature  cannot  do,  human  art  dares  at  least  to 
attempt.  For  true  art  never  seeks  to  copy  nature.  To 
clothe  the  idea  with  forms,  to  find  some  true  expression 
for  the  thought,  is  the  darling  aim  of  genius.  Not  to  re- 
produce the  blunders  of  nature,  but  to  vie  with  her  in  its 
interpretations  of  the  thoughts  of  God.  Adopting  the 
method,  and  using  the  materials  best  suited  to  its  power 
and  purpose,  it  passionately  strives  to  chisel  or  paint  or 
speak  or  sing  the  imprisoned  ideal.  But,  though  the  work 
of  the  artist  have  no  fellow  or  superior  in  nature,  though 
the  form  and  countenance  of  the  Apollo  Belvidere  glow  with 
a divinity  such  as  no  mortal  ever  wore,  though  the  spiritual 
beauty  that  illumines  the  face  of  a Madonna  find  no  coun- 
terpart in  all  the  models  of  female  loveliness,  yet  it  is  im- 
perfect. Whatever  it  be  that  genius  does  represent  to  us, 
it  is  never  the  exact  idea  it  seeks  to  embody.  The  work 
of  an  artist  is  only  a hint  of  what  he  would  fain  do.  It 
disappoints  its  own  author.  Its  features  are  not  the  perfect 
features  of  his  thought.  The  richest  legacies  of  genius  that 
grace  the  treasuries  of  art  may  be  viewed  only  as  strong 
suggestions  of  what  their  authors  vainly  endeavored  to  re- 
alize. Such  hints  may,  however,  serve  to  convey  some  no- 
tion of  the  sublime  originals.  Angelo’s  stately  genius  raised 
for  itself  a fitting  shrine  in  the  grandest  temple  ever  reared 


12 


ORA  TION. 


by  Christian  art ; and  St.  Peter’s,  which  hangs  a “ firmament 
of  architecture”  over  the  profound  depths  of  long  drawn 
aisle  and  nave  below,  may  show  to  what  breadths  and 
heights  the  soul  of  the  architect  could  expand. 

But  the  great  masters  suggest  more  than  the  single  idea 
they  attempt  to  exhibit.  In  the  different  schools  of  art  we 
catch  something  of  the  spirit  of  the  age  or  nation  to  which 
they  belong.  As  with  heroes  and  the  times  in  which  they 
live,  each  is  in  some  measure  the  product  of  the  other,  so 
the  representative  arts  take  their  tone  from  the  general  ten- 
dencies of  the  age,  and  leave  their  own  impress  upon  them. 
The  mystical,  unformed  notions  of  Eastern  speculation  seek 
expression  in  the  vague,  monstrous  shapes  peculiar  to  their 
shrines  and  their  gods.  The  clear  logical  instinct  of  the 
Greeks,  on  the  other  hand,  is  shown  in  the  severe  simpli- 
city and  unity  of  their  architecture.  The  practical  tenden- 
cies of  Roman  art  appeared  in  their  roads,  bridges,  aque- 
ducts, amphitheatres,  baths,  while  conquest  supplied  them 
' with  monuments  of  decorative  art.  The  piety  of  the  Middle 
Ages  has  left  us  proofs  of  its  strong  sincerity  in  heavenward 
pointing  arch  and  spire  ; of  its  intense  humanity,  in  gro- 
tesque ornaments  and  quaint  conceits ; of  its  devotion,  in 
the  careful  pains  and  costly  effort  bestowed  upon  minute 
details. 

But  though  art  may  thus  furnish  an  index  of  the  char- 
acter of  a nation  or  an  epoch,  the  special  aim  of  the  artist 
is  never  realized.  Let  him  pray  for  some  hand  to  guide 
his  own,  that  he  may  give  form  and  color  to  the  struggling 
thought,  let  his  very  work  itself  be  a prayer,  yet  shall  he 
always  keep  back  more  than  he  declares.  His  highest  in- 
tuitions shall  evermore  refuse  to  be  uttered. 

Among  the  modes  of  expression,  there  is  none  that  offers 


ORA  TION. 


13 


such  advantages  as  language,  whether  spoken  or  written* 
As  poetry  is  Queen  of  the  arts,  so  does  speech,  the  in- 
strument of  her  power,  excel  all  other  modes  of  representa- 
tion. The  power  of  words,  even  of  a single  word,  to 
awaken  iiiiages  of  beauty  or  sublimity,  must  ever  give  to 
literature  a place  above  the  work  of  the  sculptor  or  the 
painter.  No  single  stroke  of  chisel  or  of  brush  can  ever 
crowd  the  mind  with  remembered  forms  and  scenes  like  the 
one  word — home.  No  image  of  Jove  by  the  hand  of 
Phidias  himself  could  bear  comparison  with  the  sublime 
conception  of  the  Deity  in  the  Book  of  Job.  “Art’s  fiery 
finger  ” may  appeal  in  Power’s  Greek  Slave, 

“From  God’s  pure  heights  of  beauty  against  man’s  wrong,” 

but  a truer  idea  of  slavery  lives  in  “ Uncle  Tom.” 

Yet  even  the  possibilities  of  expression  attainable  in  poetry 
are  insufficient  for  the  ideal.  There  are  fancies  too  etherial 
to  be  imprisoned  in  words.  There  is  a heroism  too  sublime 
to  find  a voice,  except  in  deeds ; a sense  of  wrong  so  deep 
that  the  strongest  words  are  like  the  bubbles  that  proclaim 
the  struggle  of  a drowning  man.  Here  and  there  the  ocean 
of  thought  lashes  itself  into  a spray  of  syllables,  but  how 
rarely  does  an  Aphrodite  rise  in  perfect  beauty  from  the 
formless  foam  of  words!  There  are  many  veins  of  clear 
water  that  seek  the  surface  of  the  ground,  but  even  as  they 
gush  from  rock  or  sand,  they  gather  sediment  and  are 
colored  by  the  soil.  So  many  a pure  thought  springs  from 
the  heart  and  leaps  to  the  lips,  but  it  flows  out  over  a sur- 
face of  words,  that  dim  its  clearness  and  mar  its  beauty. 

The  unutterable  thought  seeks  expression,,  too,  in  music. 
The  soul  can  sometimes  sing  what  it  cannot  speak.  Men- 
delsohn composed  songs  without  words,  because  he  said 


14 


ORA  TIOJST. 


words  were  “ so  ambiguous,  so  vague,  so  unintelligible  when 
compared  with  genuine  music.”  Though  some  of  us  would 
be  inclined  to  question  this  assertion,  of  the  great  composer, 
and  to  return  upon  music  the  charge  of  vagueness,  yet  the 
fault  may  after  all  be  in  us.  Music  is  a more  exclusive 
language  than  that  of  words,  but  to  those  who  are  fa- 
miliar with  it,  it  is  doubtless  a purer  medium  of  expression 
than  any  other.  In  some  degree,  we  can  all  understand  its 
utterances  and  feel  its  power.  The  true  musical  artist  can, 
with  a few  skillful  hints  of  his  instrument,  awaken  in  us 
an  indefinable  ecstasy.  A vague  ineffable  sweetness  or 

sadness  may  be  suggested  in  the  music  of  violins.  Brazen- 
throated  bugles  will  thrill  the  soul  with  martial  ardor,  and 
religious  enthusiasm  is  kindled  in  organ  tones  and  choral 
harmonies. 

But  of  far  greater  significance  than  all  that  can  be 
learned  of  the  inner  life  of  individuals,  in  whatever  form 
they  clothe  their  hints,  is  the  unconscious  revelation  of 
social  tendencies,  as  exhibited  in  the  events  of*  history. 
For  true  history  is  not  a simple  chronicle,  any  more  than 
a poet’s  ideal  is  the  printed  page  that  attempts  its  descrip- 
tion. Nor  do  facts  themselves  constitute  history.  “ His- 
tory, properly  so  called,”  says  Cousin,  “ is  the  science  of 
the  relation  of  facts  to  ideas.”  The  conquests,  revolutions, 
rebellions,  the  whole  sad  story  of  human  strife  is  concerned 
with  the  real  history  only  as  the  word  is  concerned  with 
the  thought,  as  the  more  or  less  successful  daubs  of  an 
artist  are  concerned  with  his  glowing  ideal.  The  real  his- 
tory to  be  sought  in  the  records  of  the  past  is  that  inner 
life  of  a nation  or  an  epoch,  which  shows  itself  in  events, 
the  peculiar  tone  and  mood  of  an  age  that  fixes  its  char- 
acter. And  here,  we  are  confronted  with  the  old  difficulty, 


ORA  TION. 


15 


which  everywhere  baffles  the  seeker  of  truth,  namely,  the 
hopelessness  of  finding  the  idea  that  lies  concealed  in  the 
fact.  In  a difficult  piece  of  music,  you  will  often  meet 
with  discords,  interrupting  the  perfect  harmony,  and  what 
with  fugues  in  endless  succession,  and  the  different  and  op- 
posite character  of  the  various  parts,  not  every  hearer  will 
be  able  to  feel  the  particular  sentiment,  which  pervades  the 
composition  as  a whole.  So  when  the  Supreme  Disposer 
of  events  makes  use  of  a nation  to  execute  some  special 
purpose,  there  will  be  such  a variety  of  elements  opposing 
one  another,  such  jarring  discords,  such  different  ideas 
swaying  the  various  orders  of  society,  that  it  must  be  a 
practised  ear  that  can  trace,  through  all  the  noise  of  strife 
between  social  theories  and  systems,  inflamed  by  individual 
ambition,  the  true  key  which  represents  the  design  of 
Providence.  Nations  rarely  start  with  a definite  theory  of 
government  which  they  propose  to  illustrate.  But  even 
when  they  do,  as  was  the  case  with  our  own  Federal  Union, 
is  the  idea  ever  realized?  Where  is  the  perfect  harmony 
between  the  separate  States  and  the  General  Government  ? 
How  have  we  seen  the  pure  idea  of  representation  carried  out  ? 
Does  Congress  truly  represent  the  “ public  reason  ?”  Are 
we  ever  in  danger  of  confounding  the  terms  congressman 
and  statesman  ? What,  in  reality,  is  our  patent  government 
but  a hint  — a strong  hint,  it  may  be  — but  only  a hint 
of  what  it  was  meant  to  be  ? It  wdll  be  found  that  social 
and  political  ideals,  like  the  ideal  beauty  in  an  artist’s 
brain,  has  ever  had  to  maintain  a struggle  with  gross  ele- 
ments, that  prevented  their  perfect  development.  Codes 
always  need  alterations.  Constitutions  are  forever  wanting 
amendments.  Supreme  Courts  are  needed  to  interpret  the 
statutes  that  were  meant  to  exhibit  the  pure  spirit  of  law, 


16 


ORA  TION . 


but  which,  after  all  the  care  of  legislation,  proved  to  be  full 
of  ambiguity. 

Thus,  it  is  seen  that  in  nature,  in  the  arts  of  represen- ' 
tation,  in  the  facts  of  history,  there  is  something  more  than 
substance,  motion  and  sound.  It  is  not  to  be  forgotten, 
even  by  the  practical  Yankee,  whose  ears  are  filled  with 
the  hum  of  machinery,  that  the  real  end  and  purpose  of 
the  objects  of  sense  is  not  greenbacks  only,  but  beyond 
and  above  all  meaner  ends,  the  expression  of  ideal  truth. 

Looking  in  this  light  upon  the  world  of  forms,  hearing 
with  this  thought  the  babel  of  sounds,  all  appearances  have 
for  us,  besides  the  common  ends  of  utility,  a two-fold 
value. 

1.  However  imperfectly  the  form  expresses  the  idea,  it 
is  a hint  in  the  true  direction,  and  is,  so  far  as  it  goes, 
a minister  of  truth,  and  may  be  a teacher  to  some  one. 
Remembering  the  infinite  diversity  of  wants,  and  the  grad- 
ual shading  of  ignorance  that  dyes  us  all,  we  shall  find 
teachers  in  the  humblest  guise.  The  cheapest  print,  that 
lends  a pitiful  grace  to  the  bare  walls  of  poverty,  may  have 
a voice  for  many  a one  to  whom  a Raphael  would  be  dumb. 
What  humblest  object  is  there  in  nature  that  has  not  been 
to  some  one  the  suggestion  of  a living  thought  ? In  a drop 
of  dew  as  in  an  ocean,  in  a blade  of  grass  as  in  an  ex- 
tended forest,  an  invisible  principle  glows  through  the  veil 
of  forms.  The  smallest  grain  of  truth  in  any  representation, 
however  coarse,  of  the  idea,  is  enough  to  redeem  it  from 
total  condemnation.  We  are  not  in  the  habit  of  referring 
to  Feudalism  as  the  perfect  realization  of  the  social  idea; 
but  a just  criticism  shows  that,  in  spite  of  all  the  violence 
that  disgraced  the  system,  the  essential  spirit  that  breathed 
in  its  forms  was  a love  of  independence  and  a strong  sense 


ORA  TION. 


17 


of  individuality.  It  exhibited  only  half  the  truth  of  society, 
it  is  true,  but  the  hint  of  individual  importance,  so  totally 
wanting  in  the  worn-out  Roman  society,  has  not  been  lost 
upon  modern  civilization.  The  daintiest  falsehood  must 
have  a spice  of  truth,  or  it  will  not  go  down.  Literature, 
more  or  less  false  from  beginning  to  end,  owes  its  accep- 
tance to  the  yellow  grains  of  truth  that  gleam  in  the  mud 
of  error.  Music  is  powerful  only  as  it  adapts  itself  to  the 
heart  of  the  singer.  There  is  something  sacred  in  the 
ministry  of  song,  a stooping  of  Divinity,  as  it  were,  which 
can  ally  the  purest  melodies  with  common  uses,  and  give 
the  lowly  heart  a voice.  The  eloquence  which  is  denied 
to  many  a heart  swelling  with  a hatred  of  oppression, 
breaks  forth  in  the  songs  of  liberty.  There  were  masters 
of  oratory  in  that  company  of  Girondists  that  the  tumbrils 
bore  away  to  the  guillotine  one  morning  of  shame  in  Paris, 
but  no  speech  could  have  proclaimed  such  heroism,  such 
defiance  of  death,  such  denunciations  upon  their  murderers, 
as  they  hurled  at  the  mob  in  the  fiery  music  of  the  Mar- 
seilles Hymn,  until,  as  one  by  one  the  voices  of  the  sing- 
ers were  hushed,  the  last  one  closed  the  strain.  Viewing 
all  forms  as  interpreters  of  the  idea,  there  is  nothing  so 
common,  that,  if  it  have  truth,  may  not  furnish  a useful 
hint  to  some  growing  soul,  and  for  a time  provide  it  with 
a medium  of  expression.  The  most  obvious  truism,  the 
stalest  platitude  of  wisdom  has  to  some  mind  the  freshness 
of  the  latest  flash  of  intuition.  If  we  have  indeed  got  be- 
yond the  rudiments  of  knowledge,  our  advance  is  due  to 
the  hints  that  have  led  us  on  our  way. 

2.  But  forms  have  a second  value,  independent  df  their 
common  physical  uses,  in  that  they  constantly  lead  to  some- 
thing beyond  what  is  expressed.  The  best  effects  in  nature, 
3 


18 


ORA  T10N. 


the  master-pieces  of  art,  fail  as  teachers  of  the  true  and 
beautiful,  if  they  do  not  suggest  some  ideal  perfection  yet 
unattained.  The  clouds  are  marshaled  for  evening  parade, 
and  set  before  the  eye  in  many  a brilliant  effect  of  changing 
tints,  but  no  one  ever  yet  saw  the  perfect  sunset.  Peerless 
forms  of  physical  beauty,  noblest  acts  of  virtue,  highest  ex- 
cellence in  character,  all  stand  as  prophets  of  still  better 
things.  There  is  danger  that  we  behave  like  the  men  at 
Lystra,  and  esteem  the  prophets  and  teachers  that,  come  to 
us  as  gods.  It  would  seem  that  Art  has  for  the  most  part 
deserted  the  worship  of  the  divine  ideal  and  gone  after 
other  gods.  She  who  was  the  sister  of  nature,  of  equal 
rank,  and  in  some  of  her  accomplishments  superior,  has  be- 
come her  servant.  To  copy  nature,  forsooth,  is  art’s  highest 
mission ! As  if  nature  herself  could  furnish  perfect  models ! 
In  the  conduct  of  life  there  is  the  same  idolatry.  Every 
one  has  his  idol  saint.  The  idol-makers  — the  biographers 
and  novelists  — have  a trade  as  lucrative  as  the  makers  of 
silver  shrines  at  Ephesus.  The  servile  imitation  of  some 
more  or  less  faulty  development  of  character  takes  the  place 
of  self-development.  Self  becomes  a monster  made  up  of 
other  men’s  characteristics,  instead  of  a realization  of  the 
ideal  me.  The  contemplation  of  excellence  will,  however, 
afford  a barren  pleasure,  if  it  do  not  suggest  a more  excel- 
lent way.  “ Give  me  a beautiful  action,”  says  a French 
philosopher,  “ and  I will  imagine  one  still  more  beautiful.” 
Beauty  in  form  and  expression  will  appeal  to  unapprecia- 
tive senses,  if  it  do  not  suggest  a loveliness  still  more  en- 
trancing. Fitness  and  relation  will  address  their  teaching 
to  brutish  minds,  if  they  do  not  impel  us  to  trace  our 
connection  with  the  universe  of  Being.  For  mind  can 
never  rest  satisfied  with  material  show  and  noise.  After 


ORA  TION. 


19  , 


the  earthquake,  the  fire  and  the  wind,  the  soul  waits  for 
the  still  small  voice. 

Such  being  the  means  and  end  of  teaching,  we  cannot 
elude  the  final  question,  — Can  education  ever  be  complete? 
Shall  genius  ever  quite  express  the  fullness  of  its  intuition? 
Shall  the  purified  imagination  ever  behold,  in  the  mirror 
of  material  forms,  the  perfect  reflection  of  the  ideal  ? The 
past  has  lessons  of  hope  for  the  future.  Though  the  infi- 
nite glory  be  hid,  and  the  way  thereto  be  hedged  to  finite 
endeavor,  yet  can  it  be  approached  much  nearer  than  now. 
All  that  has  been  seen  is  but  a hint  of  visions  yet  un- 
veiled. Nature,  crowding  the  universe  with  types  and 
symbols  ; Art,  nobly  aspiring  to  vie  with  her  in  revelations 
of  the  ideal ; Poetry,  draping  with  fitting  words  the  bright 
creatures  of  the  imagination,  — all  belong  to  the  glorious 
company  of  prophets  and  teachers  of  the  truth,  pointing 
evermore  to  a fuller  apocalypse  of  the  Glory  that  shall  be 
revealed. 


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4 





